Fate
by still-guns
Summary: In the midst of the Abyssal War, a mysterious man lives his life as a security guard, surrounded not just by shipgirls, but other strange girls who shouldn't exist. When a new enemy arrives, his will is put to the test. Non-canon SIDESTORY to Harry and the Shipgirls.
1. Prologue

On SufficientVelocity, there is a fic called Harry Potter and the Shipgirls, a Kancolle/Harry Potter Xover. I'm crossposting what snippets I post there. I advise you read at least some of that fic, to understand some of what is going on here, though I will included glossaries when necessary.

I've posted a few snippets of my own there, but they're probably not Potter-y enough that they can be posted here.  
This is a concept I've been thinking of on and off for a couple of years now, but I was always concerned I'd do it wrong. Let's just say, we're treading on ice here.

* * *

Blood Week. August, 2005.

That's when the Abyssals attacked. They wrought chaos upon the world, ravaging navies and civil fleets alike. Their campaign stretched inland as well, many cities flattened by the onslaught.

It was only through the appearance of the shipgirls, that the Abyssal's could be turned back.

What few knew at the time, was that the Abyssals had been probing human defenses for years. And that one fateful day, they changed history before they intended.

* * *

_Somewhere over the United States Eastern Seaboard, Years before Blood Week..._

The sun shone brightly, its rays unimpeded by cloud. The temperature at ground level was warm.  
There was nothing remarkable about this day. It was just nice and sunny.

However, about thirty thousand feet above the ground, a flight of three aircraft droned through the frigid atmosphere. The planes resembled P-51 Mustangs, but there was a wrongness to them. They were made of sheer black metal, unnatural beast-like pilots at the controls. Their Merlin engines didn't sing majestically, instead they emitted a hideous, guttural roar.

Two raid flights soared through the skies over the Eastern continental United States. Not one human on Earth knew they were up here. Somehow, even the most powerful RADAR systems could not detect them. The flight could operate with impunity, but not for long. These were the first aircraft the Abyssal's had sent over land, in a test of their own capabilities, and the defenses of the humans.  
The mission they had was simple, but would provide vital data for the Abyssal's inevitable assault on the humans.

The flight had found a suitable target: an airliner, an aircraft that made the corrupted Mustangs look like toys. It may have been huge, but it was utterly defenseless. Its gleaming silver skin was simple aluminium, not a single plate of armour to be found. It flew at least five thousand feet below them, on a rough heading towards the coast.

This aircraft had been chosen for its erratic flight path. The Abyssal Mustangs had no access to human radio channels, but it was a safe bet that the silver behemoth was in distress, unable to stay in a straight line, losing height. If it crashed, it would be assumed it was due to whatever issue was afflicting it.

The lead Abyssal pilot turned to his wing-men, silently gesturing his attack orders, before sending his aircraft into a dive. His wing-men followed, the roar of their engines heard only by birds and a few scattered humans.  
They only saw the airliner as it passed overhead, and assumed that was what they heard.

The Abyssal Mustangs continued their death defying dive, a maneuver that would have made an ordinary Mustang break apart under the speed and stress. Less than a thousand feet from the target, the three fighters opened fire with their wing mounted 50 cals.

Eighteen machine guns thundered, streaming a hail of black bullets into the hapless airliner, piercing its silver skin with ease. As the fighters raced past, the airliners stricken fuel tanks ignited, a ball of flame erupting from the planes belly and leaving thick black smoke in its wake.  
With a slight wobble, the doomed aircraft keeled over and descended out of control, breaking up into several pieces, a large majority of the wreckage striking a farmhouse far below.

**_"̧̫͕̟̖̝͔T̖̙͙͖͝a̧̮̯r̢̝̙̳̘̘ͅͅg̺̹̞͈̝̣e͍͉̤͔̕t͇̝̞ ̲̣̀D̵͉͔̤͚̻̗͙e͍̤̝st̰̞̩̼̼̱r̲̞̠͓̼̼̘͢ò͇̲̼̯y͖̮͙̟̤e͇̱̱d̡̝̙̟̘"͍_**

**_ ._**

The Abyssal flight leader reported to its control. A similar report came in from the second flight. Both flights had each succeeded in downing a human airliner. Columns of smoke rose from the crash sites, sullying the once cloudless day.

_**"̺͓̲͍Wa̡͈̝r̻n͇̠̙̱̦͟ͅͅìǹ͕g̟͓̲̣͍̝͝ͅ! ͔̲̖H͎͓̘̝̱͟u̻̜̩͠ma̯̮̪͎ͅͅn͚̮̘̝͈ ͙͖̳̠̦̼f̮̪͍i̫͕̬g͓̜̬͜h̡͉̱͉̣ț̷͔͙é̬͓̤̪̰ŕ̳̬͖s̟͚̦̳͚͙͈͜ ̪̪͙̘d͢e̷͙̙̼͈͈̹ͅt̼͎̼̪̘̳͔͡e̡̜c̶͚̥ṭ͚̪̜̘ͅè̥̣̥̜͙͍d̼̥͙͝ ͏͙̯̫͉ḁ̟p̛̫͎p̮͙r̸̰̤̰o̻͕a̘͉̥̜͈͎̗ch̭̖̖̥͙͖̲̀i̷̜n͕͙͙̺͟g̟͖̞͉ s̲̼̩̭̼̫̕e͏̹̘l̥f͏̲͎̟̪͇ ̦͍̣p̵͔͔os̺̦͖͇̩̞̜i̵̘̼͎̳̹̫t͘i̠̦͇̫͍on̤̲͖͙̱̦.͈̳͔̲̀ ̟͈̲̱̰̀R͍̬̱̙̥ͅͅe͓̹̜̳͙̖ṱ̜̫͙̺̥uŗ̣̤n̵̲̞̙̭͔ͅ ̶̙̲̦̣̦t͈̘̼̫͠o̻͎̰͍̰̞̙͟ ̴̙̻̤b̠̕ͅa̮͝ͅs̀e͡ ̦̼̻͡a̗ṭ̰͉̰̯̹͎ ͎̭̻͖b̖̼̺ęs̘̼̫̭̠̠͈ț͍̱̼ ͕͕͍s̯̳̱͍̗͙͢p͇ẹ̡̟̗̼̤̣ed̴͕̦̯.̫̖̯͓"̣**_

_** .**_

The bestial Abyssal pilot turned its head to the West. In the distance, it could see three human jets rapidly approaching. Had the attack been detected? Had the airliner relayed a distress call? There was one way to find out.  
With a wordless order, the flight of Abyssal Mustangs fled the scene at a speed unthinkable for its normal human variant. In no time, there was no trace of them over the crash site.

The human jets did not give chase. They had not detected the Abyssal craft. Instead they hung around the crash site, seemingly investigating.  
This information was sent to control. It would prove to be crucial for their plans.


	2. Battleship Alsace

Ever since Blood Week, Contre-Amiral François Mercier had found life to be quite the challenge. Not just the struggle of fighting the Abyssals, but the sheer absurdity of the shipgirls.  
If you had told him ten years ago, that he would be in command of a not-insignificant task-force of warships reincarnated as young women, he would have made every effort to send you for a psych evaluation.

But this was 2013, eight years after Blood Week, and more-or-less the same time since the first confirmed appearance of the shipgirls. He had no choice but to accept the situation, no matter how bizarre it was.  
It wasn't so bad though. It had taken time to mould him into who he was now. In fact, he saw many of these events as practically normal now.

Except for what had happened just this morning.

"I'll be honest," he spoke, trying to remain level-headed, "In a normal world, none of this would make any sense.  
"But it does. Ships have souls. We summon those souls from another plane of existence. Those souls take the appearance of girls, because humanity addressed ships with feminine pronouns, at least that's the general consensus among my superiors."

He adjusted his position, leaning his elbows on his desk as he addressed the enigma that stood before him.

"But you," he pointed at her, briefly forgetting his manners, "You don't make any sense to me. By all rights, you don't have a soul, because you were never built. You weren't even laid down.  
"So please, would you kindly tell me how on Earth you exist?"

The girl before him just shrugged,

"_Monsieur Amiral_, I do not know. I only remember a dark place and a voice calling out to me, begging me to stop resting and help."

"Hmmm, that sounds more or less like a typical summoning," Mercier responded, steepling his hands in thought, "But we didn't have a summoning ceremony this morning. The last one we had was two weeks ago, and we were trying for Jean Bart, not you… no offense."  
"None taken, Amiral," she smiled, "You had no reason to believe I would answer, and I never expected I even could answer."

The admiral snorted, before smiling warmly at her,  
"The circumstances of your summoning notwithstanding, your appearance is nothing short of a miracle. The _Marine Nationale_ is short on shipgirls, and our most powerful, _Richelieu_ was recently disabled in an Abyssal ambush. We were looking at more than two weeks without her and relying on one grumpy _Dunkerque_ class and and a handful of older dreadnoughts to defend France on two fronts."

A look of shock crossed the girls face as she processed the admiral words,  
"I didn't realise things were so bad."

"Don't misunderstand, we do have allies to assist us," Mercier shrugged, "The Italians and the Spanish in the Mediterranean, and the British, Germans and Americans in the Atlantic. I'm sure the jokes they are making at our expense is the worst threat to our nation at the moment."

"But _Richelieu_, the Germans-" she began, only for Mercier to cut her off.  
"_Richelieu_ is in good hands," he reassured, "I know I probably made the situation sound a whole lot worse than it really is, but France is well defended.  
"The American's have a detachment in Cherbourg, including the battleship Massachusetts. Our shipgirl force may be small, but we have some of our most modern ships, the _Mogador_'s, the _Malin_'s, the _Suffren_'s, even _De Grasse_ and _Béarn_. You are only adding to our forces, and soon, we won't have to rely on the American's anymore.  
"As for, the Germans, that's something we'll cover more in-depth during your orientation, though suffice to say, they are our allies now."

Mercier finally stopped speaking, allowing the girl to process everything.

She licked her lips, speaking once more "So... everything's fine then?"

"For the most part," Mercier responded, cocking his head, "The Abyssal's are still out there, and we're going to need you to help hunt down the _salope_ who nearly killed Richie."

The girl could only smile widely at the prospect of battle, doing what she was designed to do, and doing it to avenge little _Richelieu_ too, as Mercier stood up, clearing his throat to grab her attention.

"You still need to go through orientation and have a little history lesson first," he offered his hand, which she gently accepted, "But please, allow me to be the first to welcome you to the _Marine Nationale_, fast battleship _Alsace_."

Her smile only got wider.


	3. Battleship Massachusetts

**A/N I want to point out that updates' for this fic will slow down in the near future. I am currently cross posting the few snippets I have written so far on the SV thread, and from then, who knows when the next update will be. I can spend months mulling it over. Hell, that's one reason why All Over Again is still in purgatory, besides my muse running dry and my losing confidence.**

* * *

Buffeted by the cold Atlantic air, battleship Alsace sighed heavily. This was _not_ what she had expected. She was supposed to be hunting down the Abyssal that had nearly sent Richelieu to the bottom.

Instead, she was on _Convoy Duty_. Pah! She was a finely machined, precision instrument of battle, and here she was babysitting Liberty ships, acting only as a deterrent. She almost wished the Abyssals would attack…

...okay, she _did_ wish they would attack. She was desperate to do battle, to prove herself! She had been trained by Richelieu, mentoring her in the ballistic properties of her 15-inch rifles, taught how to effectively use her high speed. How was she supposed to impress Madame Richelieu whilst moving at 8 knots with no enemies in sight?

Her train of thought, however, was broken when her companion poked her in the cheek.  
"Stop brooding Alsace, you're upsetting the Liberty ships." Massachusetts said, clearly trying to break the tension that Alsace had created. It was no secret that the French battleship had not taken her first orders very well.  
Alsace snorted, "I want to fight. Zis convoy duty is _intolérable_, Madame Massachusetts."

Massachusetts nodded, "I understand that. You want to prove yourself. But let me tell you something.  
"When Oklahoma was summoned, she was desperate to get into the action herself. Since she was sunk at Pearl Harbour, she never really fought in the war. So she wanted to prove that her summoning was not a waste.  
"Thing is, she was so eager to fight that she managed to convince her sister Nevada that she was ready, snuck out with her fleet and damn near got killed in the process because she went toe-to-toe with a Ta-class. She had no training, was not used to being a shipgirl and was far too eager for her own good."

Alsace paled. So _that_ was why she was on convoy duty. Breaking her in, so to speak, instead of immediately throwing an inexperienced shipgirl straight into the fray.  
"I suppose I am a little _verte_. But I so desperately want to avenge Madame Richelieu. The pain she was in… I cannot imagine how it felt." She clenched her fists, her face wrinkling in sudden anger. She'd known of the Abyssal's for barely a month, yet she already hated them.  
Massachusetts gripped Alsace's shoulder tightly, "Hey don't worry. You'll get your chance. I'm sure Richie would be flattered that you care for her so much," she said, smiling warmly as Alsace blushed, "She's a tough shipgirl, who simply got into bust-up with a fairly powerful Abyssal. Believe me when I say she's been through worse."

A deep droning noise cut through the air, the horn of the leading metal warship USS Port Royal sounding off the all-clear. Massachusetts sighed in relief at the sound, like a weight off her shoulders,  
"Phew, we've made it into American coastal waters. No chance of an Abyssal attack now."

Alsace just frowned in disappointment, "We were not attacked." Clearly still wishing she'd seen _some_ action

Massachusetts shrugged in response, "Well, this was an empty convoy after all. The Abyssal's don't often target the returning empties. But that's a good thing. The less bloodshed, the better. The less fighting I have to do, the better."

The French battleship turned to the American, opening her mouth slightly to ask a question, but she closed it again. Massachusetts saw this though, "We'll talk more when we get to New York," she said with a smile, "Things are gonna be uneventful from now on, sooo… Wanna come aboard for the final stretch?"

Alsace had to admit, she'd forgotten that one of the steel hulled warships escorting the convoy was Massachusetts' own steel hull self, the huge battleship looking a bit out of place among more modern AEGIS cruisers and container ships.

"Y-you, do not mind?" Alsace asked nervously, as Massachusetts set foot onto the set of docking stairs that allowed her to leave her hull at will.  
"Not at all, in fact I'd be honoured to have you aboard," Massachusetts replied, reaching out her hand for Alsace to take, "Just remember to adjust your weight, I don't want dents in my deck."  
Alsace giggled, taking the offered hand and joined her companion on the stairs.

Dismissing her rigging, she followed Massachusetts up to the main deck.

"Welcome aboard USS _Massachusetts_ BB-59, French Battleship _Alsace_," Massachusetts warmly conveyed, before sharply turning her head to the coast and beaming, "And just in time to catch your first glimpse of New York City as well."

Anticipation overcame Alsace, and she raced to the bow, crashing into the jackstaff to see the skyscrapers of New York City for the very first time. It wasn't the greatest view, some haze and the horizon prevented her from seeing the Statue of Liberty, but the gleaming obelisks of Manhattan Island were more than enough to get her turbines pumping.

"I am here," she whispered, just loud enough for Massachusetts to hear, her excitement almost tangible, "I am glad I am here."

Massachusetts smiled as she joined her at the bow, "Me too, Alsace. Me too."

* * *

**So about a month in story has passed since we last saw Alsace, not to mention IRL. Alsace will get her chance to prove herself one day, but right now, she's got to tend with New York City.**

**This version of NYC may be different from the main story's version, and is **_**definitely**_** different from IRL. This will be explored in forthcoming snippets, but as a clue; one day, one year, something didn't happen.**


	4. Johann Elswood

Gripping the railings, a cool breeze ruffling his hair, Johann Elswood watched from his perch on top of the world, as the convoy of ships from England entered the Harbour. He smiled as he sifted through some memories, of the city's last time as a cargo hub. Now it was like those days again, rejuvenated, the bay bustling with naval activity.

He may have been old, but his memory and knowledge had barely faded after so many years, and he enjoyed just gazing out into the bay, spotting the various ships.

A _Ticonderoga_ class cruiser sitting just behind the Statue of Liberty.

A Type 42 destroyer chugging out with the latest outbound convoy.

A hulking great _South Dakota_ class battleship cruising in with the inbound empties, the bold white number 59 on her bows.

His lips curled upwards again, happy to see his friend still alive and well. He reached up to his eyes and adjusted the adjustable binoculars that were attached to his glasses, zooming in on Massachusetts.  
There she was, stood triumphantly at her bowsprite, hanging onto her jackstaff in a manner similar to Jack Sparrow, an air of confidence around her. He could almost see the small smile she seemed to wear all the time.

Some movement behind Massachusetts (or Massy as he called her) caught his attention. Glancing that way, he saw another figure, standing and staring at the city before her.

So _that_ was Alsace?  
Interesting.

A few old jokes crept into his head, and a small, sad smile tugged at his lips. There was one person this world was missing that Blood Week had so cruelly taken, his humour and personality erased.  
That person's demise laid heavily on Elswood's shoulders. Many lives lay heavily on his shoulders. It was important not to let that fact get to him.

Removing the binocular attachment from his glasses and pocketing them, he stepped back from the railing and proceeded for the exit.  
As he made his way down the steps from the Observation Deck, he spoke, seemingly to no-one,

"Sousanna? Please inform Norah my guests will be arriving shortly."

There was no response to the inquiry. But Johann smiled anyway, and spoke once more,  
"Thank you, my dear."

The skyscraper shuddered briefly. Then, nothing.

* * *

**Hello everyone, a brief update from me. Sorry to keep the people waiting (again). I will be adding more chapters to this in the near future. Now it might seem a little disjointed, as nothing was written in order, but I always planned it like that. I'm going to try and bring some order to the chaos though.**

**As it stands, this story is also probably going to no longer be a sidestory to HatSG as my works are probably a bit too grimdark for the more noblebright HatSG thread, so it will probably become a standalone on SufficientVelocity.**

**That being said, I will salvage what I can from this work, to hopefully keep some stuff as sidestory to HatSG.**

**I do owe a lot to Harry Leferts for at least allowing me to post my tripe in his thread, and some of the things in my story are based on things he did.**


	5. Operation Torch

**November, 1942**  
_Operation Torch_

In a move that would ultimately provide a second front in the war against Germany, American forces invaded French colonial territory in North Africa. Controlled by Vichy forces who were expected to stand down, the Allies encountered some fierce resistance from the Vichy French.

One of the places where the Vichy fought back hard, was the Moroccan port of Casablanca. A small force of French warships stood between the port and the US task force. Among these French ships, was the unfinished battleship _Jean Bart, _hastily pressed into service as a glorified shore battery. Despite lacking a majority of her armament, she was nonetheless a significant threat to the American forces.

**Battleship USS **_**Massachusetts**_**, Flagship Task Force 34**

Battle was underway. Shell splashes showered the deck with spray. Coastal guns did their level best to defend Casablanca against invasion. But the American forces were too numerous. Destroyers and cruisers alike bombarded the city and the few ships the Vichy had at their disposal. A cruiser burned in the harbour, a victim of _Massachusetts _own 16-inch guns, the thick smoke billowing from the carcass darkening the sky.  
Docked at the port, the incomplete battleship _Jean Bart _sat, her few guns silenced, a hole blown open on her rear decks.

Massachusetts herself, unseen by her crew, sat curled up in a corner, far from the noise of battle. This was her trial by fire, her first battle. She had gone into it cocky and headstrong. She probably would be out there cheering for her friends and allies, had it not been for one nameless crewman questioning the Captain.

_"Pardon me Sir, but I thought the Vichy had a battleship. I don't see one on the recon photographs."  
"Well technically they do. It's just unfinished. Was in the middle of fitting out when the Nazi's invaded France, so to deny them adding it to the Kriegsmarine, the French steamed her up and sailed her here. The _Jean Bart_may be incomplete, but she has four operational 15-inch guns. So she's a threat, and our task is to neutralise that threat, whether we simply disable her, or send her to the bottom as a burning wreck."_

The decision was logical, of course. A gun was a gun, no matter the calibre, no matter how many there were. _Jean Bart_ was a threat, no doubt about it. But to Massachusetts, upon hearing that her foe wasn't the powerful, vicious enemy she had imagined, but rather little more than a _child_, shook her to the core. She tried telling herself that she was doing the right thing, that _Jean Bart_ would kill her or her friends without a second thought. But the sporadic fire from the French battleship only shook her resolve further.

When her shells finally made contact with the enemy, _Jean Bart's_ screams of pain seemingly carried over the waves, Massachusetts could take no more.  
Sequestering herself in the quietest part of her hull, she silently wept for _Jean Bart_. To Massachusetts, it felt like she had entered a boxing ring to fight a one armed toddler holding a sharp stick, and been told to beat the kid into submission.

It didn't feel _right_. It was _wrong_. She _hated _this feeling.

* * *

_Jean Bart _was silent now, she had been for some time. But Massachusetts could still hear her screams, no matter how hard she clamped her hands to her ears.  
Despite eventually learning that _Jean Bart_ survived, it didn't change Massachusetts' outlook. She _hated_ fighting, even if it was to protect her sisters and friends. When the war ended and she was decommissioned, she welcomed it, hoping for the sweet release of scrapping, and the silencing of her demons that would bring.

But she was denied that. For years she languished in mothballs. And then they preserved her, turned her into a museum. Of all the ships to preserve, why did it have to be _her_? Why couldn't they have chosen another of her sisters, one more worthy of saving? She didn't want to be remembered for the Battle of Casablanca, where she hurt someone who couldn't properly defend themselves. She could still hear the cries of agony, even after all these years.

She may have spent many more years haunted by _Jean Bart,_ whilst sat dormant in Battleship Cove. But when the screams of her countrymen drowned out the screams of her past, she awoke from her slumber to find America burning.  
As shellfire rained down around her, she felt the sharp bite of an armour piercing round.

_"I don't. Want. To. Fight." _She told the attackers, "_Don't. Make. Me. Fight."_  
An eldritch abomination strafed her decks with machine gun fire. As the blood of innocents ran down her decks, Massachusetts wept.  
"_You're monsters. Worse than I ever was. You leave me no choice."_

For the first time in sixty years, Massachusetts fired back.

* * *

**A/N: Big Mamie gets some backstory, and look into her character**


	6. The Admiral

**August 31st, 2005**  
_Temporary Field Hospital, Central Park, New York City_

Henry Walker's world had been turned upside down. Following the week long battle for New York, no, for the entire United States, Henry now found himself a little out of his depth. When the Abyssal's (as many were calling them) had attacked, they had hit Norfolk and Washington damn hard. The Navy's command structure had been decapitated, and former Commander Walker was now Rear Admiral Walker. When before he was commander of a single destroyer, he was now in charge of fleets.

The main Abyssal attack was over, having been driven off, but he was still scared, not to mention wounded. His new subordinates begged him to relinquish command until he was recovered, but he refused. So with an arm in a sling, and a drip in by his side, he set up a command centre in the temporary hospital in Central Park, complete with a war table that he now stood in front of.

Reports of the battle for New York were all over the place. Few things were concrete. An aerial attack and shore bombardment had been the first assault. Then there was the ground invasion. Beast-like troops stormed the city from all sides, supported by eldritch tanks. Police and later the National Guard had fought valiantly against the invaders. How the tide was turned was up for debate. Somehow the Abyssal invaders were beaten back. Henry believed the National Guard had simply held long enough to wear the Abyssals down and mounted a successful counter-attack. But several reports from civilians told a more wacky story of waves of ghostly gangsters swarming the Abyssals, mowing them down with Tommy Guns.

Clearly this second story was an aftereffect of the chemical attack the Abyssals launched when they were driven off Manhatten island. It was fortunately, the only attack of its kind reported worldwide as whatever chemical it was they used, the immediate effects were horrific. Reports of soldiers screaming in untold agony as their skin sloughed off their bones, and melting into puddles of gore. Cleanup of the city was traumatic, and would stay with many hazmat crews for years to come. Now more than a week after the battle had ended, Lower Manhattan was still largely uninhabited, chemical vapours still lingering, evidently causing people to hallucinate these ghosts rushing to defend the city.

But now reports were coming in from all over the world of similarly impossible events. Armies of ghosts and mythical beings defending against the Abyssal onslaught. More prevalent were the reports out of Japan. Some of the supposed awakening of the demon Kiyohime. But most were of girls who were supposedly resurrected battleships, walking on water to meet the Abyssals head-on. Propaganda, it had to be. Some wild, impossible stories to boost morale, as if to say '_Look, this attack is so horrible, even inanimate objects and mythical creatures are coming to life to defend us!' _There was enough on Henry's plate without these ridiculous stories ending up on his desk.

Unfortunately, these stories were now making their way into official communiques. These so-called 'shipgirls' were being touted as some great new weapon, which lead Henry to believe that the Abyssal chemical, though no longer deadly, was still potent in some way and scrambling peoples minds. Maybe it had affected _him, _as he could swear his latest orders from the Naval Chief of Staff instructed him to take on one of these fallacies and _deploy them to defend New York_. These orders now lay strewn across the war table in front of him. The world had gone _mad_.

He was so preoccupied, that he didn't hear the heavy footfalls behind him.  
"Admiral Walker, Sir?"

The unfamiliar feminine voice caught him off-guard, his body jolting, though he quickly recomposed himself, turning away from the war table to face the newcomer. He was shocked to see a tall, barely dressed woman in front of him. She looked to be Native American, but her hair was pure white, bangs parted over a red marking on her forehead. What looked like feathers were clipped to her hair, which itself was incredibly long. She wore a black jacket, but it wasn't fastened all the way, giving an ample view of her ample chest. He shook his head to refocus on her face, his green eyes meeting her unnatural red ones.

"I'm Walker." he responded, "And you are?" The woman stood to attention and saluted,  
"Shipgirl battleship Massachusetts, reporting for duty Sir! You can call me Mamie if you like."

Near silence fell in the office, the moans of the wounded next door being the only sound. Henry blinked. 'Massachusetts' blinked.

"Wh-what?!" he scoffed suddenly, his face contorted in fury, "So they weren't joking? _THIS _is our so-called 'secret weapon'? A fucking stripper?"  
The so-called 'shipgirl' recoiled at the outburst, her own expression twisting in anger, but she didn't speak out of turn.  
Henry's tirade went on,  
"I'm supposed to send _you_ to the frontlines? What, give the men a little striptease, be like 'ohhh hey, I know you've probably lost your entire family, but why not get a view of these apples?'!  
"We're in the middle of a _fucking warzone_! The streets are full of people who got turned into goop! And the higher ups think the best way to increase the morale of our men is to give them half naked girls to boggle at?! All while calling them battleships, like they're somehow going to win us this war?! They must be out of their fucking minds!"

Any other person would have shouted back, defending themselves, calling out 'how dare you', or simply cried. But to this woman's credit, she remained silent. Her expression was no longer of anger, nor of contempt, but instead one of disappointment.  
"I am not here to fight you, Admiral," she spoke softly, there was no mistaking the determination in her voice, "I am here to defend my nation. I would rather not fight at all, but the Abyssal's have forced my hand. I will not sit idly by whilst they slaughter our people. If you do not give me orders, then I shall take it upon myself to defend New York to the best of my abilities."  
Walker scoffed again, incredulous, "What abilities? You gonna magic a battleship into existence? I don't believe a single word of these reports. It's bullshit. We need actual weapons out there, not..." he gestured to her, "Not cute girls in bikinis and what not."

He turned back to the war table, his demeanour changing as he rested upon it. No longer was he the furious disbelieving Admiral. Now he was just another wounded soul in a wounded world.  
"Too many men of my men have been killed. My best friend was lost with the _Stennis_. I watched as hazmat crews swept what used to be _fine_ men and women down gutters because they couldn't be put in a bodybag." He turned back to her, almost expressionless. It was a stare Massachusetts was all too familiar with. He continued,  
"I'm not about send you to your death, that would ultimately be completely meaningless. It doesn't matter what you are, or why they sent you. You'll _die_ for absolutely _nothing._  
"Do yourself a favour," his tone hardened, his head lowering, "Go home. Find some meaning to your life before we all die."

Massachusetts was pained by his words, but she understood that inside he had no hope. The horrors he had seen, the things he had done. He was sure the end was nigh. That, in part, was why she was here. Not just to fight, but to bring people like Henry Walker hope.  
"I am going to defend the nation, Admiral. It's my duty as a battleship of the United States."

He raised his head up again, his breathing becoming fast and uneven. Gradually, a crazed grin grew upon his face and it became clear he was laughing.  
"Battleship." His words were dry and humourless, "Battleship?"

Without warning, he snapped, throwing a chair across the room, but Massachusetts only flinched.  
"PROVE IT!" he spat, "_Prove it to me_! _Show me what you really are_!"

There was a flash of light. Walker shielded his eyes as the room was bathed in an unearthly glow, emanating from 'Massachusetts'. As the light died down and allowed him to see once more, he paled at the sight before him.

_(Azur Lane Massachusetts)_

After days of dismissing the reports as false, to come face to face with this girl who was now clearly possessing an aura of sheer, unimaginable power, Henry almost fainted.  
But as he was about to keel over, he was caught by Massachusetts arms, and she carefully set him on the edge of the table, so as not to tear out the drip.  
Though his breathing was rapid, through his astonishment, he managed to speak.  
"Th-they... Y-y-you weren't kidding, were you?"

"No Sir. I have awoken from my slumber to defend my country at its time of greatest need," Confident that Walker was stable, she pulled away from him, her rigging creaking as she did, "I await your orders, Admiral Walker Sir!"

It took the man a moment to compose himself, the stars gradually fading from his vision, "Erm... just patrol the harbour and its entrance for now. Defend against any threat. And when you get back, please tell me how to, uh... how to best utilise your abilities."  
Massachusetts smiled softly, "I believe I have someone aboard who can help you with that, Admiral." She held out her hand, palm turned upwards, revealing another sight that had Walker rubbing his eyes in disbelief.  
He could swear that in this girls hand, was a tiny, pudgy person wearing what looked like a US Navy uniform.

"Hey. Hey hey hey hey hey!" The little person said. Henry blinked,  
"A-admiral Henry Hewitt, Sir?" he paused, taking a moment to look back and forth between the tiny person and Massachusetts, "Uhhh... I must be dead. There's no way any of this is actually happening. I must've kicked a puppy when I was 3, and gone to hell."  
Massachusetts giggled. The tiny person claiming to be Admiral Hewitt was not impressed.

"HEY! Hey hey hey! Hey!"  
Walker paled, "No Sir, that will not be necessary." Gingerly, he held out his good arm, allowing the tiny Admiral to jump into his palm. Turning his attention back to the shipgirl, Walker licked his lips,  
"Erm, OK," he addressed her, evidently frazzled, "You have your orders Massachusetts, uh, Mamie. You're dismissed."  
"Yes Sir!" she saluted, dismissing her rigging with a much less intense flash. As she left the room, she heard one last interaction between the two Admirals.

"Hey hey hey."  
"What d'you mean I should take a break?"

* * *

Passing through the tents of the field hospital was a sobering sight. Rows upon rows of injured civilians and military alike. Despite her orders, it was difficult not to stop and offer some comfort to whoever she could. There was one patient though, who caught her attention more than the others, and she couldn't figure out why. There was nothing outwardly different about him, save the large bandage wrapped around his head. There was something _else_ about him that attracted her to him. Something _different_. It bothered her a little, but it wasn't an bad feeling. Just... _off_.

He weakly held an arm out to her, a hint of something in his eyes, as if he recognised her. She approached him, gently taking his outstretched hand and kneeling beside him. He gripped her hand as tightly as he could in his weakened state, his breathing laboured as he tried to speak the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

"Nor...ah? Norahhh?" he wheezed, his eyes twinkling in expectation of her answer. Massachusetts smiled sadly,  
"I am sorry sir," she whispered, "I am not Norah." The corners of his mouth turned downward, his face falling as tears welled in his eyes. She patted his hand, trying to comfort this clearly distressed man, his injury preventing him from fully expressing himself,  
"For what it's worth, I hope you find her. You didn't deserve this."

Soon enough, she was gone. She couldn't stay with him forever. Despite the overwhelming sorrow she felt for each one of these people, the encounter nevertheless strengthened her resolve, and made her hatred of all those who sought violence even stronger.  
"These Abyssal's will receive no mercy from me, just how they gave none."

In the shadow of the Twin Towers, she summoned her rigging and stepped into the bay.

* * *

The girl was gone, but he still stretched his arm out in the direction she had walked in. She had felt so familiar. He desperately wanted to say more, but this damn head injury stopped him. All he could say was the one name at the absolute top of his mind, the one he cared for the most, the one he _needed_ to know about.

"Norah..."


	7. A Beginning

**September, 2005**  
_Field Hospital_, _Central Park_

Henry Walker mentally ran over the words the orderly had just recited to him. Slowly, he turned towards the man who seemed to shrink at his glare  
"Escaped?" his voice was odd, like he didn't quite believe it, "One of the patients... escaped?"

"Y-yes Sir," the orderly replied, "But not just any patient. It was Johann Elswood." Walker's glare turned quizzical,  
"Elswood? I'm not familiar with that name."  
"He's the one who keeps calling for 'Norah', Sir."

Walker's face fell somewhat, "Oh... him. He keeps me up at night. Is it really that much of a big deal?" The orderly sucked in his lips, clearly uncomfortable, Walker mentally cursing himself for how callous he sounded.  
"Well, Sir, he has a very particular and bizarre head injury. If he evens tries to fall asleep, he's dead in 2 minutes. So we have to keep him awake to keep him alive. Which means he's been awake more-or-less since the day he was brought in."  
Walker's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, "The attacks were nearly a month ago. You're telling me he's been awake for more than three weeks?!"  
The orderly nodded rapidly, "Yes Sir, which means he's incredibly delirious. In about 8 hours, the stimulants are gonna wear off and unless he's brought in, he's going to get very tired, very fast."

Henry took a moment to digest the information, rubbing his face with his good hand.  
"Well, I'm not really sure why you came to me about this, unless you need help setting up a search party. I can scrounge up some sailors and maybe get the Marines on the horn. Of course, I need to clear it with my superiors, and you should clear it with yours. You really should have gone to her first..." He took a moment to breathe, but instead, he sighed heavily,  
"But it would just be a waste of time. It's one guy in a big city. We still haven't been able to declare Lower Manhattan as safe. I don't think there's much of a point tracking him down. We have to use our resources elsewhere. In the grand scheme of things, one man's life is inconsequential. We'll just have to take it on the chin and move on..."

He trailed off, noticing the orderly now holding out a piece of paper with a very bold, very _familiar_ seal printed at the top.

Taking it, Henry very carefully read each and every word that was printed on that sheet of paper.

"This... is a Presidential Order..."  
"Yes Sir."  
" ...To keep him alive at _all_ costs..."  
"Yes Sir."  
"...Who the fuck is this guy?"

* * *

**February 14th, 1975**  
_11th Floor, One World Trade Center, New York City_

To say that Johann Elswood was having a tough time breathing, was an understatement. The acrid smell of smoke and burnt plastic wasn't just assaulting his nostrils, but haunting his memories as well. The fire was long since extinguished, but he couldn't help but hold his breath. He was embarrassing himself in front of the police and fire fighters now investigating the blaze.

"Hey?" A voice next to him spoke up. Elswood looked up at his fellow security guard Victor, a senior man and his direct superior.  
"You don't look so good Johann." Victor said, mispronouncing his name, "You need some air?"  
Elswood shook his head, "No," he squeaked unconvincingly, "I'm fine. Perfectly fine."  
Victor scoffed, "No you aren't. You look redder than the ketchup I put on my dinner last night. You're holding your breath." The man was wiser than he let on. A Korean War Veteran, he recognised the look in Johann's eyes. This young man, this _kid_, had been traumatised by an event at some point in his relatively short life.

"'Nam?" he questioned, catching Johann off-guard.  
"Huh?"  
"Was it 'Nam? That what the smell reminding you of?" Elswood shook his head,  
"House fire. I was 6."  
"Ohhhh, that explains it then. I didn't take you for the soldier type anyway."

There was a brief silence between them.  
"Get some air, Jo. Don't need two of us up here anyway."

Without a second thought, Elswood followed the mans request... or order... whatever it was, he wasn't sure. He just knew he had to listen to those words and get out of this room.

Bursting into the stairwell, Johann gasped for air. The smell still lingered in the stairwell, but at least it wasn't quite as bad. The fire doors had done their job admirably. He still didn't breathe as deep as should, but at least his breath was steady now.  
But still the memories of smoke and flame pervaded his senses. The only comfort he had, was that the memories in question were not from _that _day. Even now, many years later, it was difficult for him to even be close to a _bonfire_ thanks to that.  
The previous nights fire had damaged 6 floors of the North Tower, and floors 11 up to 25 smelled like fire. He had to get away that, and Stairwell A was his closest avenue of escape. Now it was time to go downstairs try to put this behind him. Everything that mattered was ahead of him.

Gathering his thoughts, he cleared his throat and was about to walk down the stairs when he heard something, something that was out of place in the quiet, empty stairwell.  
_*sniffle*_  
He paused, listening for it again. Maybe he was just imagining it.  
"_Mmmnnnn..._" _*sniffle, sniffle*_  
Clearly, Johann was not alone in the stairwell. Whoever was making the noises was a few floors up. It wasn't exactly unheard of for people to enter the stairwells. After all, that was kind of their purpose. Occasionally people would use them to smoke in, something Johann had tried his level best to stamp out. But right now he wasn't sure if he cared enough. The lingering smell of burnt plastic still assaulted his nose, and he just wanted to go downstairs and get a hot chocolate to drown out his demons.

But that one little voice in his head spoke up, 'Check it out, check it out. You're a security guard, it's kind of your job to check things out.'  
His belly craved the sugary sweetness... but it would only take five minutes to go up a few floors, see who it was and what they were doing. The Hot Chocolate would still be there.  
So he began his trek up the floors, humming a tune to keep his mind off the smell.

12th Floor. 13th Floor. 14th Floor. 15th...  
He stopped. There, on the landing between the 14th and 15th floors, a girl sat, cuddling her knees. She was sniffling, and quietly crying to herself. Even the most cursory of glances would tell an onlooker what the source of her woes were.  
Johann gritted his teeth at the horrendous burns on her legs. Clearly she'd been caught in the fire. But the question was, how had nobody found her yet? The tower had been evacuated, all the wounded had been taken to hospital, every affected floor had been swept. Heck, Stairwell A had been traversed by firecrews. It seemed this girl was Houdini reincarnate.

Whatever the reason for her escaping detection, she was clearly badly hurt and in need of medical attention.  
"Ma'am?" Elswood spoke softly, "Do you need help?" It was dumb question, but sometimes people were stubborn. And that seemed to be the case right now, the girl showing no signs of even acknowledging him.  
"Ma'am?" he spoke again, "Would you like me to call an ambulance?" Still, she said nothing, just sobbed quietly. The image of this girl, reminded him of that house fire. Fire fighters had found him curled up in the shed, inconsolable and traumatised. No matter how old one was, fire could be a traumatic event.

"OK..., I'm going to pick you up and take you downstairs, OK?" He didn't expect a response, "We'll get you some help." Still nothing. It was beginning to annoy him, but he had to stay calm. He wasn't about to let any of his anger out right now.  
Crouching down, he carefully slipped his arms around her back and under her legs, and lifted her up. Or at least, he tried to. The girl, who had completely frozen up, wasn't budging, as if she weighed a million tons. Bewildered, he tried again, grunting with great effort as he attempted to lift the girl off the floor. Alas, all that happened was he got stars in his eyes, a sign that if he didn't stop, he'd probably pass out.  
Gasping for breath, his muscles aching, he noticed the girl was now looking at him, her grey eyes wide open in shock.

"Sorry Ma'am... but you seem to be stuck." The girl said nothing in return, still apparently shocked.

And then she vanished.

Johann fell flat on his ass in surprise, "What the actual _fuck _just happened?"

* * *

A few floors up, the girl, in reality the spirit of One World Trade Center, watched as the security guard dusted himself off and hurried back down the stairs, evidently spooked. She had to admit, it probably wasn't the smartest idea to teleport like that. She had acted irrationally, but in her defence, she was completely flustered and blindsided by what had just happened. This man had _touched _her_. _Let alone seen and heard her,_touched!_ How?!

"Sister! Sister!" she called out to her twin, Two World Trade Center, "Has anyone ever touched you?" There was a moment of silence as her twin digested the question.  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Her twin answered back, "Of course people have touched me. I thought you were the more level headed of us, Sis. I guess that fire messed you up more than I thought."

One grumbled, "No not the real you, _You_ you. The you that walks your hallways, the you that no-one ever sees, ever hears, that people walk straight through. _That you._"  
"Ohhhhh, _That_ me. No of course not. Why do you ask?"  
"One of the Security guards... he _heard_ me, _saw_ me, he _touched_ me. He tried to pick me up! And then I teleported away, 'cause I didn't know what to do. I never expected that to ever happen to me!"  
Two gasped, "Gurrll, he tried to pick you up? Why didn't you say yes? You just vanish in front of his eyes instead?"  
"Not _that_ kind of pick-up," One growled back, "He heard me, saw me, tried to carry me downstairs, because he saw my injuries. I didn't know what to do, so I just teleported."

Two's tone was disparaging, "You know, if he tells anyone, people are gonna call him crazy. But what I wanna know is, how the heck did he touch you?" she quizzed, "We've both been around for years and no-one has _ever_ shown a sign that they've seen us, not even those weird folk who walk through the walls. Why does this one guy suddenly see you now?"  
One thought for a moment, "Maybe more people will start seeing me. Maybe because I'm getting older and making more of an impact on people, they'll start seeing me."

There was a pause.

Two spoke again, "You have no idea."  
One sighed, "I have no idea. OH, I know! Let's ask someone who's been around for years and years if it's happened to them."

Moving to her roof, One called out across the living city,  
"Heeeyyy! Wooly! I have a question for you!"  
"NO." Was Woolworth's resounding reply, "You're on probation for the last time you pissed me off. Ask someone else, you eyesore."  
"Geez, okay Grandma," One sneered, "Heeyyy! Hey Empy!"  
"_What_ is it?" Empire State snapped, "And for the last time, _don't_ call me that, you vapid steelframe."

Taking no notice of the elder skyscraper's demand, One continued, "Has anyone ever touched you, Empy? Not the real you, but _You_ yo-"  
"I _know_ what you mean, unlike your air-headed twin." Empire State's contempt for the younger buildings was clear, "For your information, no. No-one has ever touched Me. The only part of me they have ever laid hands on is the form that they built. The form they see towering above the skyline. They don't care if we have souls or not, so they will never see us for what we really are, as they do not believe such a thing is possible."  
She paused for a moment.  
"_Why_ do you ask?" she queried.

One told her.  
"Well now, isn't _that_ interesting?" Empire State responded, "I can safely say that has _never_ happened to any building in this city. None before me, or after can attest to having such an experience."  
"Wow, really?" One was astonished. This was the _first_ time this had happened?  
"Yes," came Empire State's curt reply, "Which leads me to believe you're making it up and that it didn't happen."  
"WHAT?" One fumed, "I am _not_ making it up!"  
"So you say_,_" 40 Wall Street piped up, "But you must admit the pair of you have gained quite the reputation for attention seeking."  
"Indeed." Chrysler spouted, "I almost believed you were making up the fire until I heard the sirens."  
"Not to mention you're just a pair of ugly gray obelisks!" Metropolitan Life Tower spat.  
"Now now MLT," Flatiron soothed, "Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

As the cities living buildings argued amongst themselves, the Twins sighed in exasperation.  
"Will anyone ever believe us?" they asked in sync, to no one in particular.


	8. First Meeting

**September, 2005**

"Shipgirl Massachusetts reporting as ordered Admiral!"  
Walker looked up from his desk, bringing his eyes to bear on the attractive woman before him. He still found it difficult to believe that this girl could snap tank barrels like toothpicks.

"At ease Sailor." As the shipgirl relaxed, he spoke again, "How's the situation out there? No enemy sightings I hope?"  
"No Sir," she reported, "There have been no Abyssal sightings off the New York coast in 17 days." Walker raised an eyebrow,  
"Everyone's just calling them 'Abyssals' now?" he quizzed.  
"Sorry Sir. They say they came from the abyss," she replied, "Would you prefer I didn't call them that?"

Henry sighed, his lips flapping in a raspberry,  
"Can't keep calling them just 'The Enemy' forever, I suppose. Hell, I've been using the term myself. Well, no sightings in over two weeks. I guess that's good. How you holding up? Can't imagine it's easy being the only shipgirl defending the harbour."  
"I'm fine Sir. They ain't sinking this battleship, no way." Now it was Massachusetts's turn to raise an eyebrow, "Pardon me Admiral, but something tells me you didn't order me here just to ask me about me and Abyssal sightings."  
Henry's eyes widened a touch, "Since when could you read me like an open book?"  
Massachusetts smirked, "You're too easy Admiral, you leave your pages open."

Mirthfully shaking his head, Henry addressed her,  
"Massachusetts, I have an unusual mission for you. If I remember correctly, You are impervious to the effects of the Abyssal chemical, are you not?"  
The battleship nodded her head, "That is correct."  
"Good good," Henry acknowledged, "In that case, I am deploying you and your crew on a search-and-rescue mission into Lower Manhattan Island."  
Her face contorted in puzzlement, "Search and rescue _on land_ and _inside_ the city, Sir?"  
"Correct, hence 'unusual'. One of the patients of the hospital managed to escape this morning." He handed her a profile of Johann Elswood, his picture clipped to the front.

"I know this man," she buzzed in recognition, "I've sat with him a few times. He seems to think I'm someone called 'Norah'."  
"We don't know who Norah is. It's the only word he's said since he got here, probably some sort of aphasia. He worked as a security guard at the World Trade Center. Did so since it opened in the 70's, and has heavy ties with the place. We believe he's going to Lower Manhattan as that's where the WTC is. He's going to be delirious and probably thinks he needs to try and keep the place safe-"  
"And he might stumble across a puddle of the chemical, and be dissolved," Massachusetts finished, as she pawed through the profile.

Henry nodded in the affirmative,  
"That and two other things. His condition is critical. He has about 7 hours until he dies. You have to find him before then."  
"Seven hours?" she shrugged, "That should be more than enough time."  
"Don't get cocky," he warned, "It's a big city, like a damn maze. You'll have helo support, so you won't be totally alone out there, but the faster you find him, the better."  
"Yes Sir. What was the other thing?"

Henry breathed in sharply,  
"That, would be _this_." He picked up a piece of paper on the desk and handed it to Massachusetts. He eyes went wide upon seeing the Presidential Seal.  
"A Presidential Executive Order? Seems he has friends in high places." She scanned it briefly, "Half of this is redacted?" Well that was a surprise.

"I know. That typically means secret government work. Regardless of whatever he did for the government, or whatever it was, we are duty bound to follow that order."  
"To keep him alive by any means necessary?" She exclaimed, incredulous, "That's a sketchy order if I ever heard. What happens if we 'disobey' and he dies? We get court martialled and stripped of rank, maybe prison?"  
"I spoke to an Adjutant to the President. Apparently, only wilfully disobeying the order will result in arrest or court martial. If we at least make an effort to save him and he dies, nothing happens to us."

The battleship sighed heavily. That order was totally bizarre, and screamed of illegality. One could assume that saving this Elswood guys life could mean ending another. Had he convinced the President to write this order? It incredibly selfish if that was the case. It gave her grounds not to like the guy, even after spending time with him.

"I don't like this order Admiral." She stated matter of factly.  
"Neither do I," Henry agreed, "But an Order is an Order. It's just finding a guy, and bringing him back. Just gotta make the effort."  
Massachusetts scoffed, "Fine. Let's go find ourselves an asshole."

* * *

**May 24th, 1976**  
_107th Floor, Windows on the World Restaurant, One World Trade Center_

"I gotta hand it to ya Jo," Victor spoke between mouthfuls, "The way you handled that bastard this morning... excellent work."  
Johann just poked at his food, not really hearing Victor's words, "Thanks," he said, rather absent mindedly. He was more focused on how expensive the food was up here, 'Fifteen dollars for a slice of pizza?'  
Victor continued, "Them people are always causing trouble... can't believe everyone thought this whole 'equality' thing was a good idea."  
Johann did hear _that. _He winced, silently wishing the older man would keep his repugnant views to himself. It wasn't a side Victor showed too often, but it had really coloured Johann's perception of him in the few years he had known him.

Victor's voice snapped him out of his bubble again, "Something wrong Jo? You've barely touched your food."  
"Hm? Oh, I'm not really that hungry to be honest. I'll probably get it in a doggie bag for later."  
Victor scoffed, "You're gonna let it go cold?" He scooped another mouthful of stew into his mouth, "Well, your loss."

Johann sighed, "Look, Vic," he began, dropping his fork on his plate, "It's not that I don't enjoy an overpriced pizza every now and again, but the fact you invited me here has me a little on edge. I feel like this is The Last Supper before you fire me."  
Victor burst into laughter, "Such a pessimist Jo!" he bellowed, "Maybe I just felt like treating my best man to some good food on my dime..." Johann shrank a little in his seat, feeling like the entire world was watching him,  
"Or maybe it's because you're getting a promotion, and you're too self deprecating to think you'll ever get one."

For a moment, there was silence between them, the only noise was the bustling of the busy restaurant.

"Wait!" Johann exclaimed, shocked at what he'd been told, "Y-you're promoting me?!"  
"Well, only if you want it. But it's a doozy, you won't get another shot at it."  
Then younger man was practically frantic, tripping over his words, his mind running faster than his tongue,  
"Ye-bu-wha... W-w-what's the job errrr description?"  
Victor smiled warmly,

"Head of Security."  
Johann blinked, "But... that's your job?"  
Victor's smile turned forlorn, "I have cancer," his voice trembled, "So by the advice of my doctor, I'm retiring next week. I want you to take my place." Johann was torn. On one hand, this man had taught him the ins and outs of the security trade. He was his mentor, and a friend. But he had some really backwards views on many things, especially those of his fellow human beings, and Johann wondered if maybe it was karma.  
"I... I... I don't know what to say."  
"You could start by saying 'Thank you Victor, I accept the position'."  
"B-b-b-but I'm the youngest guy on the squad! I don't have the experience, or the seniority. Why don't you give the position to Dwayne? He's been in the trade longer than I have. And doesn't the Port Authority have jurisdiction over this?"

Victor stared blankly at Johann, "Would you like to repeat what you just said?"  
"I said why don't you give the position to... Oh yeah, fine, OK. Dwayne's as dumb as a bag of rocks. Probably dumber."  
Victor nodded, his brow raised, "Oh you noticed did ya? Soooo...?"

Johann sighed heavily, "This is uh... this is heavy Vic. I need a minute to think about this."  
"Sure." Victor dabbed his lips as he finished his meal, "I don't need an answer right now. But I do need it by the end of the day. If you want the job, come back to me by the time I go home at 9:30, otherwise I'll assume you don't want it." He stood up from his seat, the chair shuddering on the floor, "Think quickly Jo. This opportunity won't last forever."  
Patting him on the shoulder, Victor departed towards the elevators. Johann watched him disappear around the corner.

"Ffffffuckin' hell," he sighed, a bit overwhelmed, "This wasn't part of the plan."  
His attention would have turned back to his cold slice of pizza, had he not noticed a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Distracted, he diverted his gaze and gasped at what he saw.

Across the restaurant, standing by the banquet rooms, was a girl. _That_ girl. How could he forget her? The shimmering silver hair that flowed down her back, the smart office wear she wore, her pale skin.  
He stared, disbelieving his sight. There was no way he was seeing her again. _Surely_ she had just been a figment of his imagination, a hallucination caused by smoke inhalation. She didn't exist... right?  
His eyes followed her as she walked away, disappearing through the door of one of the banquet rooms... no that wasn't a door, that was a _wall._

Pizza forgotten, Johann Elswood got up from his seat and marched toward the room. He had questions that needed answers.

* * *

Staring out of the window towards New Jersey, she knew she wasn't alone when the door clicked shut and the noise of the restaurant was silenced. At first, she thought maybe it was one of the restaurant employees, preparing the room for a reservation. But she did not expect to be addressed directly.

"Who are you?" Her eyes widened in surprise. She _knew_ that voice. Her thoughts flew back to more than a year before,

_'I'm going to pick you up and take you downstairs, OK? We'll get you some help.'_

The security guard who had touched her. Surely not? The older buildings in the city had been so dismissive of her tale, that even she had begun to doubt what she had felt. It was just a hallucination, right?  
But... she needed to know. Was this man... real? Cautiously, she turned toward the owner of the voice...

...and One World Trade Center came face to face with Johann Elswood.

The pair examined each other.  
She saw his brown eyes, covered by a pair of glasses perched upon his nose. His blonde hair was short and messy, little care had been paid to it. His chin covered in short stubble. His tidy shirt hid the muscular body underneath.  
He noticed that she was tall for a girl. He was 5'10, but she was 6'1 at least. Her eyes were silver... in fact a lot about her was silver or grey. It was unnatural how much of her was grey or pale. But equally unnatural were her unscathed legs. The last time he had seen her, she had at least 2nd degree burns. Now there was no trace. Such grievous wounds didn't just vanish without leaving something behind.

"Who are you?" he asked her again.  
"Who are _you_?" she asked in turn.

Johann scoffed, "Does it really matter? I need to know if I'm going crazy or not."  
She stared at him quizzically, "Maybe you are. But before that, I have a question for you Sir."  
He raised an eyebrow, but allowed her to ask her question, "Are you real?"  
There was a pause.

"Huh?" Johann was taken aback, "I uh, I was just about to ask you the same thing."  
"You were?" One blurted out, "But I've been questioning the day you touched me for months. Everyone else has told me I'm making things up, and I've been wondering if I really did because the fire really hurt and maybe I was hoping some hot guy would come along and rescue me and..." she trailed off, blushing furiously, "I really thought I made you up and convinced myself it was real."

Johann took a moment to digest all of what this girl had just told him, "But why would you question my existence?"  
"You touched me!" she burst, "You saw me, you heard me! No human has ever done that before, not in the history of this city!" His brow wrinkled as he mulled the words over in his head, his mind clouded by confusion.  
"I need to know," she continued, "If I was imagining things. I need to know you are real."

"Well I need to know if you're real!" he declared, silencing her, "The last I expected to happen when I found you crying in that stairwell, was for you to just up and vanish in front of my eyes! I've been half expecting to go nuts as a side effect of-" he stopped mid sentence, sighing, "I tried to pick you up, and you vanished into thin air. I _felt_ you. How could you just... vanish?"

For a moment, the pair said nothing to each other.  
Then she darted forward and grabbed his hand, both gasping at the others touch.  
"You're real!" she muttered excitedly, rubbing his hand between hers, "I feel the warmth of your hand! The roughness of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse... it's relieving," Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met his, "You're real..."

Elswood, on the other hand, had little to say, "You're cold. Doesn't feel right." He pulled his hand out of her grasp, "So we've confirmed to each other that we're tangible to each other. But that doesn't answer all of my questions." His gaze hardened. She almost would have withered under it had she been something lesser.  
"Vanishing is one thing, but you had horrible burns when I first saw you. Yet I see you now and it's like your skin never even heard of fire. Burns like that don't just 'get better'."

She blinked, "I was repaired. It doesn't hurt anymore."  
"Repaired?" he yawped, "What are you, Commander D-errrrr, Robot or something?"  
"No?" she answered, briefly questioning his slip of the tongue, "I was set on fire. The fire burnt me. Contractors were called in and they fixed me."  
Johann just stared, the gears turning in his head, "What about... the vanishing... walking through the walls?" His tone was far away despite his curiosity.  
"I can go wherever I wish... as long as it within the confines of this construction."  
His back straightened and his eyes widened, "What does that mean?"

She paused briefly, wondering if she should tell him more. There was no way he would believe her if she did. He was just a human.  
But maybe he was open minded. He was asking more about her after all. Maybe...

"I can venture from my roof top four hundred and seventeen metres up, right down to my deepest foundations beneath the soil. I _am_ this construction. I am this building you stand upon."  
He swallowed deeply.  
"My construction started in 1966, but it wasn't until 1969 that I became aware of who and what I was."  
He began to tremble.  
"I am One World Trade Center, the elder of the Twin Towers."

"Bullshit."  
Crap, he didn't believe her.  
"How do I prove it to you?" she demanded, "What else can I say? What can I do?" Her eyes lit up as she had an idea.  
"Oh wait, I know! I'll set off the fire alarm for a moment!"

Suddenly, he was alert, "Wait, NO!"  
She gave him a toothy grin, "Too late!" she stuck out her tongue.

Johann froze as a commotion could be heard in the restaurant as the diners panicked, his radio exploding into chatter.  
"Do you you believe me now?"  
He gulped, "You had me at 'I am One World Trade Center'."  
Her face fell, "Oh... so the alarm..."  
"Wasn't necessary," he winced, "You know that's a lot of paperwork right?"

One felt quite small all of a sudden, "Sorry." she apologised in a little voice. Seeing how guilty she felt, he gave her a lop-sided smile,  
"We'll talk more later... right now I have a mess to clean up." He turned toward the door, preparing to leave the building girl in the banquet room. But as his hand touched the door handle, he paused.  
"Ya know... if we're gonna be talking to each other more often... you're gonna need a better name."

Her brow furrowed, "What's wrong with my name?" she asked, a little angrily.  
"Well, no offense, but 'One World Trade Center' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Is there a name you prefer to go by?"  
"Everyone else just calls me 'One'." she replied. He frowned at this,  
"That's not really a name," he thought for a moment, "Well, you're the north tower, soooo... hmmmm..." He turned back to her, "How about Norah?"  
She tilted her head at him, "Norah?"  
"Yeah. I mean, it's not exactly intelligent, I mean, I just swapped the T for an A, so if you want a different name I suppose I could find o-"

"I like it." She interrupted.  
"Already? I mean, r-really?"  
"Yeah. Norah... my name. It's nice. Simple. Kinda like me I 'spose." A smile tugged at his lips,  
"Well. _Norah_. My name is Johann. I'll see you around."

And with that, he was gone.  
Norah turned back toward the window, her chest swelled with pride. Just this once, she felt a little taller.

* * *

Alone in the elevator, a single tear trailed down Johann's cheek, motivated by memories of smoke, fire, and a great cloud of dust.  
"This just got a lot more complicated."

* * *

**The same day, 9:34pm**

"Victor!" The man in had just been getting into his car when he had heard his name called. He looked up to see Elswood jogging across the underground parking lot.  
"Jo!" he bellowed, "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me!" The younger stopped to catch his breath against a green Mustang parked across from Victor's car.  
"That's your car right?" Victor asked, somewhat accusatory.  
"Huh? Oh yeah. '71 Mach 1. She's my baby." Johann replied, periodically gasping. Victor nodding in appreciation,  
"Hmm, Very nice. Maybe I should get one, replace this pile of junk," he kicked his decrepit old Cadillac, "Live a little before the cancer takes me."

"Vic... I've thought a lot about what you said earlier," Johann spoke up, ending the small talk.  
Victor's attention was now on his potential successor, "And?"

"When I experienced that fire as a kid... I felt so helpless, so scared. I wanted to do anything I could to protect others from feeling that same way.  
"I know there were some questions about why I took a job in security, instead of becoming a cop or a fire fighter. But the truth is, I feel connected to this place in a way I never thought possible."

The older man raised his brow, "A connection..."  
"Yes." Johann gasped, "I feel that I have to protect this place to the best of my abilities, for as long as I can."  
"Well that's great Jo. I'm happy you feel you have found your purpose. But it doesn't answer my question."

Johann paused, then sighed,  
"Victor, I will gladly take your place as Head of Security of the World Trade Center. I pledge to protect this complex to the best of my abilities, even it I must die to do it."

Victor looked on in surprise at this young man. Suddenly he felt like he was looking at a man who'd had a long life of hardship, but was still determined to get through it all.  
"You're really serious about this, ain't ya?"  
"Yes Sir."  
"That's good. Means I made the right choice." Victor smiled warmly at the young man before him, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Johann watched as Victor got in his car and drove out of the garage. These were some big shoes he'd be stepping into...  
He looked across to the doorway of the parking lot, as the silvery form of Norah stood at its entrance, watching him.  
Yes, these were big shoes to wear... but for her, it would be worth it.

"Norah..."

* * *

**September, 2005**

"Norah... Norah... NORAH!"

The cries echoed around the empty streets of Manhattan Island. The man shouted and screamed, a head injury preventing him from saying much else, other than the name that he feared for most.

"NORAAAAHHH!"

At some point he'd cut his feet. He hadn't been wearing shoes when he'd escaped the hospital, so now he was leaving streaks of blood in his wake. The pain and burgeoning infection was, however, not enough to stop his advance.

"Noraaaahhhhhhh... PLEEEAAASE!"

He fumed, furious that he could not speak all the words he wanted to say.

"Need... know... Norah..."

His anger turned to anguish, as he wept. His memories were clouded, but he was sure of one thing.

The last thing Johann had seen on the day the world ended, was the Twin Towers in flames.


End file.
